Great Mouse Christmas Carol
by romancefreak4ever
Summary: Padriac Ratigan is the most greedy and cruel rat in all of Mousedom who never felt the warmth of Christmas. But what happens when he is visited by three Christmas spirits? Can they help thaw his icy heart? A Great Mouse Detective parody of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol with appearances of rodents from Secret of NIMH, Rescuers Down Under, and American Tail.
1. The Cast

**I came up with a new story! A Great Mouse Detective parody of Christmas Carol with Ratigan as Scrooge our star! I was really excited to write this! I hope you will all enjoy!**

Padriac Ratigan-Ebenezer Scrooge

Basil-Fred –Nephew

Felicity, the girl missing the emerald ring-Fred's new wife

Dawson, Jake, Justin, Bianca, Bernard, Basil's sister and brothers—Fred's party attendants

Mr. Hiram Flaversham-Bob Cratchit

Olivia Flaversham-Tiny Tim

Mrs. Elizabeth Brisby (Flaversham)-Mrs. Cratchit

Brisby children: Martin, Timothy, Cynthia, Teresa-Cratchit Children

Sebastian Doran-Jacob Marley

Mickey Mouse-Ghost of Christmas Past

Miss Kitty-Belle, Scrooge's old love

Mr. Ages-Old Fezziwig

Nicodemus-Ghost of Christmas Present

Jenner and Ratigan's Monster side-Ghost of Christmas Future

Bernard, Bianca, and Jake-Donors for Charity

Fifval-Little boy caroler

Fidget-Old Joe, the shifty man who trades with ladies for Scrooge's goods

Auntie Shrew, Queen Mousetoria, Barmaid-Ladies who trade with Old Joe


	2. Chapter 1

**Great Mouse Detective and Rescuers Down Under characters belong to Disney**

**Secret of NIMH and American Tail characters belong to Don Bluth**

**Original Christmas Carol story belongs to Charles Dickens**

**I only own my own retelling of the story. Enjoy!**

Chapter 1

Sebastian Doran was dead. Everyone knew this, especially his long time friend and business partner Padriac Ratigan. It was he who signed the papers with the other witnesses to make it official. It was he who was the executor of Doran's estate stated in his will. It was he who was Doran's only friend, business partner, and sole mourner at his funeral. Yes, Ratigan knew without a doubt that Doran was dead as a doornail. But for some reason, he never painted out Doran's name on the front of their warehouse. It still read "Ratigan and Doran." No one knows the reason why; some said that perhaps he just never bothered to. Others said it was to honor his old friend. But a thought like that was a little ludicrous, for even if Ratigan cared about Doran, a notion like that would mean that Ratigan still had a heart, and heaven knows if he even still had one.

Yes, he was a tight-fisted rat, that Ratigan, a covetous, cold, greedy devil, squeezing out every penny anyone owed him until it choked them! He was ruthless in collecting what was owed to him, showing no mercy. There were rumors that he even fed those who couldn't pay him to his cat Felicia. These were false rumors, but it was apparent that no one would be surprised if he did. Freezing weather could bother Ratigan, for the coldness in his heart was much more bitter than any harsh winter that was dished out. And nothing, not even Christmas, ever warmed him one degree. What's more, icy frigidness of his heart showed on the outside of his face as well. He had sharp, calculating ruby eyes, a rounded clever chin, a slithering harsh voice that was as smooth as a cobra yet harsh as spikes, and had a muscular height and build that towered over other mice and rats like an evil giant glaring down at his helpless quivering victims. No one ever smiled at him. No one ever greeted him in the streets and asked him "My dear Ratigan, how are you? Are you free this evening to come to dinner?" No child ever came up to him to ask for directions. No beggar ever came to him to ask for a pence. His countenance was so cruel looking and forbidding that even strangers on the streets who never met him before steered clear of him the moment they laid eyes on him.

But Ratigan did not care. He actually liked this, and thought it best that it was kept that way, warning all to keep away from him least they suffer his wrath.


	3. Chapter 2

**Great Mouse Detective and Rescuers Down Under Characters belong to Disney**

**Secret of NIMH and American Tail characters belong to Don Bluth**

**Original Christmas Carol story belongs to Charles Dickens**

**I only own my version of the story. Enjoy! **

Chapter 2

It was seven years later after Sebastian Doran's death, and Ratigan was once again in his office on Christmas Eve, hunched at his desk as he took notes and made calculations of the money he collected. The room was dark and very cold, due to the weather outside, and the only source of light was Ratigan's gas lamp and the very small fire that illuminated the room with a dull forbidding glow. It was three o'clock, but the streets were already very dark, and the eerie thick fog swallowed up the rodents of Mousedom as quickly as they would appear passing by Ratigan's window, with the street lamps as their only light to guide them. But Ratigan did not mind the darkness, nor the cold. On the contrary, he liked it the way it was, because it suited his equally dark and cold demeanor. And besides, it would be a waste of money to spare more coal in the fireplace than was needed. Therefore, he kept the fire in his office very low. In the office next to him, however, the fire in there was even smaller, as if there was only one coal burning in it. The poor clerk in the office by the name of Mr. Hiram Flaversham, a middle aged mouse with large square glasses, red sideburns and bald head and a kind face, did not dare ask for more coal because Ratigan had threatened to fire his employee if he asked for more. So Mr. Flaversham tried to warm himself with what little flames he had, but he did not succeed.

Just then, the door came open, and a tall mouse came striding in with a merry step.

"A very Merry Christmas to you, Uncle Ratigan!" the young man called cheerily, tipping his hat to him.

Ratigan lifted his eyes from his work, and saw that it was his nephew and only living relative, whom everyone knew as Basil of Baker Street. He was a tall handsome mouse, with light brown fur and a creamy underbelly. His emerald eyes twinkled with merriment and his smile was wide and warm. But Ratigan found no joy or warmth from seeing his nephew, and he merely greeted him gruffly in return. "Bah!" he muttered, turning his cold red eyes back to his work. "Humbug."

Basil's ears perked in surprise. "Christmas, a humbug, Uncle?" he questioned, coming over to his desk. "Oh now surely you don't mean that."

"I do," Ratigan growled, turning his eyes back up to the detective. "What is so bloody merry about Christmas? And what right or reason do you have to be so merry? You're poor!"

Basil merely smiled; his uncle always had disapproved of Basil's career as a detective, believing there was no financial promise in it, but Basil never paid heed to his lectures and by now they merely bounce off of him.

"Oh come come, my good fellow," Basil said breezily. "If that is so, then what right or reason do you have to be grouchy? You're rich!"

Ratigan's lips twitched; he hated it when his nephew had a point. Unable to find no argument to that, he merely waved his hand and retorted, "Bah! Humbug!"

"Oh don't be so cross, Uncle Ratigan," Basil said.

"What else should I be, Basil?" Ratigan growled. "Especially living in such a world of fools! A Merry Christmas, _indeed!_ It's a time for paying bills without any money to do it! It's a time where you're a year older and not a penny richer. It's a time where foolish parents award their whiny little children with sweets and goodies when the little brats don't deserve them. Why," the corner of his lips twitched in a tiny but very mean smile, "if I had my way, every insufferable pipsqueak who struts about so cheerily wishing the world a Merry Christmas would be boiled in his own Christmas pudding! Or, ha," he gave a cold harsh laugh with no humor, "even better, have a stake of holly rammed through his heart! Why, I wouldn't care if Christmas never came again!"

"Uncle Ratigan!" Basil cried, looking stunned. "That's a terrible thing to day! Christmas means so much at this time of year! First, it's a sacred and holy time of the year to remember the birth of the One who was born in a stable long ago. Secondly, it's a good and selfless time where selfish desires are pushed aside to help those that are poor, ill, and less fortunate than themselves. It's a time for giving, a time for peace with fellow men and women. It's a time where it does not matter how much you have in your pocket as long as you have so much in your heart. Christmas brings so much cheer and joy that people forget their pride and are joined in unity with love and kindness towards one another, willing to open each other's hearts to another, and for all of that, I say God bless Christmas!"

At the end of Basil's speech, Mr. Flaversham in the other room applauded his words. But then, realizing his mistake, he quickly busied himself with tending the pitiful fire in the stove, which sputtered and went out with a pop.

"If I hear another sound from you, Mr. Flaversham, you will be spending your Christmas looking for a new job!" Ratigan threatened menacingly. The clerk gulped and nodded, "A-Aye, sir." He nearly upset his ink bottle as his shaking hand reached for his quill.

"See here, Uncle, don't take it out on poor Flaversham," Basil said sternly. "I simply wanted to invite you to my annual Christmas party tomorrow. You really should come, you know; I've always said you are always welcome to come."

Ratigan shook his head; his nephew always invited him every year to his silly party, though he had no idea why Basil even bothered. Ratigan never went to any of his parties, and he certainly won't in the future.

"Ha. I think I'd rather visit you down with the Devil before I go down to one of your ridiculous festivities," Ratigan said cruelly, signing his name on one of the papers in front of him.

Basil's ears folded, looking a little hurt. It wasn't as if this was the first time his uncle had turned down his invitations, and Basil had grown used to it by now. But this was the first time his uncle had said such a thing when declining his invite. "But why, Uncle?"

"Why did you get married?" asked Ratigan with an eyebrow raised.

"Because I fell in love with Felicity, of course," Basil said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, unsure where this sudden question came from.

"Because you fell in love!" Ratigan growled, shaking his head as his ears flicked back. "As if that isn't something more ridiculous than Christmas! I don't need to hear anymore of this nonsense. Good afternoon, sir." He waved his hand in dismissal, bending his head over his work once more.

But Basil stood where he was, looking at his uncle with pleading emerald eyes. "But Uncle Ratigan, you never came to see me _before_ I fell in love. Why are you using my marriage as an excuse not to see me now?" he implored.

Ratigan only dismissed him again, ignoring his question, his quill pen scratching away on his paper. "I said, good afternoon."

Basil sighed, deciding to drop it, clearly seeing that he did not want to discuss the matter anymore. He wondered if the reason Ratigan said such harsh things about Christmas and not wanting to visit him was because he had something terrible happen to him in his life. His uncle never talked about his past, and Basil wondered if he ever know about it. But that was a matter that would have to wait for another time. For now, he could still be the one person that will still reach out to him with love and warmth, even if he wouldn't return it."I'm truly sorry, Uncle Ratigan, to see you so stubborn," he said sincerely. "We've had our differences, but we've hardly quarreled. But I have tried to keep the spirit of Christmas alive, and I will to the very end. So," he said with a smile, putting on his top hat as his ears flicked up, "A very Merry Christmas to you, Uncle!"

"Good _day, _Basil!" Ratigan growled, his tail swishing irritably.

"And a Happy New Year!"

"Good-bye!" Ratigan huffed, glaring after his nephew.

Basil left the room with a merry spring in his step, stopping outside Flaversham's office to wish him a Merry Christmas as well, to which Flaversham cheerfully returned the greeting. As Basil went out, three mice came in, stamping out their snow covered shoes and rubbing their chilled paws. Two of them were young men, one of them a kangaroo mouse with a confident air, brown eyes, and a charming face. The other was a common grey field mouse who had a shy demeanor about him, leading on his arm a beautiful female white mouse with a warm smile and sparkling eyes.

After Flaversham led the three mice to Ratigan's office, the kangaroo mouse swept his Australian hat off his head, smiling at the large rat. "G'day, mate. My name is Jake and these are my partners Bernard and his wife Bianca. This is Ratigan and Doran's, aye?"

Ratigan merely nodded.

"Have I the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Ratigan or Mr. Doran?" Jake continued.

"Mr. Doran has been dead for seven years," Ratigan said stiffly. "Died seven years ago on this night, in fact."

"Oh, how dreadful," Bianca said, her ears flicking back. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, dear."

Ratigan waved his hand. "It's alright, madam," he said stiffly. "It was his time."

"Well, mate, we are from the Rescue Aid Society, which makes huge donations to charities. And I'm sure you as Mr. Doran's partner would how generous Mr. Doran would be if he were here," Jake said with a bright smile. Ratigan shook his head. Doran was no more charitable than he was.

A little nervous at his negative reply, Bernard withdrew a file and some papers he was carrying in his bag, along with an ink bottle and quill pen. "W-well, sir, uh, as Jake said, the Rescue Aid Society is a large supporter to donating to charities all over London. It is especially important during this time of year to give extra food, warmth and Christmas cheer to the needy."

"We also like to ask citizens to help our group so they can make someone's Christmas this year," Bianca said warmly. "Would you like to donate, Mr. Ratigan? How much would should we put you down for?"

"Nothing," Ratigan snapped as he shut his heavy book.

Jake smiled. "Oh, I see. You want to remain anonymous, am I right, mate?"

"No sir, I wish to be left alone," Ratigan growled, standing up and glaring at them. "The orphanages and shelters are doing well enough without wasting any more money on such useless beings."

The three looked shocked hearing such harsh words, their ears perked and their eyes wide.

"B-But, but sir," Bernard stammered timidly. "There-there are some shelters that-that don't have enough money or room to support all the rodents they house."

"And there are so many starving people on the streets that suffer without a home or food or warmth," Biana pleaded. "Many will die without help."

_"__Then let them die!"_ Ratigan snarled, suddenly slapping his hands down on the table and making all three jump. "There's enough of those wretched poor creatures in this world anyhow! It would do good to decrease the surplus population weeding out all the useless poor. It is not my business to care about them nor do I care if you decide to waste your bloody time and money with them. Now, I must bid you good day. I have much to do." With that, he returned to his work at his desk, his eyes flashing and grumbling fluently under his breath.

Seeing there was nothing they could do to change his mind, Bernard and Bianca sadly left, with Jake glaring at Ratigan before he closed the door, following the other two.

"Can you beat that?" Jake growled angrily, his ears folding back as he put his hat back on. "That selfish greedy grumpy old miser! Crikey, I've never seen anyone so bad-tempered."

"Well, perhaps Christmas time is a hard time for him to cope with, Jake," Bianca said gently. "The poor dear did say he lost his friend Christmas Eve."

"So that gives him an excuse to take it out on everyone else?" Jake asked, raising his eyebrow.

"No, but it's understandable," Bianca said patiently. "I know I would be sorrowful for a long time too if I lost my husband." She hugged Bernard's arm in emphasis. Bernard blushed but smiled, kissing her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Bianca," he assured her.

Jake sighed. "Aye, I suppose you're right as always, Miss B," he said. "I'm not going to judge how long someone grieves. That bloke must've been really close with his best mate."

"I do hope he finds happiness again, the poor dear," Bianca said, looking towards the window with hopeful eyes.

"W-well, there's, uh, nothing else we can do here," Bernard said quietly. "We should, um, keep moving and get to some other houses before it gets too dark." He began to escort Bianca down the road away from Ratigan's warehouse.

"Right behind you, Berno," Jake said, hopping along after them. As he looked back at the window, he muttered, "Bet it will take a miracle to change the bloke's heart."

As the day wore on, the fog thickened on the streets and the darkness grew heavier. The chill in the air grew more intense as workmice and rats gathered around fires to warm their hands. Just then, a family of mice came strolling by who were caroling as they were giving extra warmth and food to the poor as they passed by. They had come up to the rodents gathered around the fire, offering them extra blankets, clothes, and sweets with warm smiles and kind hands. The atmosphere felt so full of Christmas spirit and cheer that one of the rats began to sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." The other workers joined in as well as the carolers, and soon enough, all their voices rang sweetly down the streets.

One mouse, who was a part of the caroling family, was a young boy named Fifval who was wearing a coat and red sweater almost too big for him and a blue hat that kept slipping over his eyes. He smiled as he saw Ratigan and Doran's Warehouse, deciding to spread the Christmas cheer to the lonely people that could be inside. So holding up his hat, he made his way eagerly across the street. Coming up to the door, the little mouse stood on his tip toes, his face close to the keyhole, and began to sing. But at the first lines of _"God rest you, merry gentlemen, May nothing you dismay—"_

Ratigan opened the door so aggressively that it made the little mouse jumped back. "Get lost you little brat!" the rat snarled, poking his head out. Poor Fifval fled in terror from the warehouse to the safety of his family as Ratigan slammed the door shut again. "Blasted children," he muttered darkly.

Some time after that, it was closing time for Ratigan and Flaversham. Stretching his arms, Ratigan announced this to his clerk. The mouse immediately blew out his candle and put away his books and papers, pulling on his coat and scarf as his tail wagged; he was highly looking forward to spending Christmas Eve with his family.

Ratigan eyed his eagerness with distaste as he pulled on his own coat. "You'll be wanting tomorrow off, I presume?"

Flaversham nodded timidly as he buttoned up his coat. "A-Aye, sir," he said quietly. "It's Christmas Day after all tomorrow, sir. If it's convenient for you, that is, sir."

Ratigan growled, his ears flicking back. "It's _not _convenient, and it's not fair either," he snapped irritably, tying his scarf tight around his neck. "If I was to reduce a day's wages from your salary, you'd think I was being unreasonable, am I right?"

Flaversham nodded and smiled weakly.

"And yet…" Ratigan growled, coming closer to Flaversham, towering threateningly over him. "You don't think it's unfair that I should pay you a day's wages for no work at all."

The weak smile left Flaversham's face as he looked up at his boss, intimidated by his enormous build and threatening eyes; he felt so small in comparison in more ways than one. "B-But it's only o-once a year, s-sir," he pleaded.

"Yes, yes, _every _twenty-fifth of December!" Ratigan snarled, putting on his gloves so violently that his claws almost tore the fabric of the fingertips. "It's a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket just to sit at home!" After a short pause in thought, he sighed, rubbing his temple. "Very well, Flaversham. Have the day off tomorrow. But you better be here earlier the following morning, or else you will upset me. And you know what happens when someone upsets me…" "Oh a-aye, sir. I promise, sir," Flaversham nodded, almost choking himself as he wrapped his scarf around his neck with shaking hands.

"Hmph," Ratigan grunted, slamming on his hat. "Good night, Flaversham." With that, Ratigan marched down the dark road, grumbling as he went, his cape billowing out behind him like a forbidding bat being swallowed up in the darkness of the murky fog


End file.
